Volume III, Chapter 1, Pages 122–129
1 Day after day, week after week, passed away on my return to Geneva; and I could not collect the courage to recommence my work. I feared the vengeance of the disappointed fiend, yet I was unable to overcome my repugnance to the task which was enjoined me. I found that I could not compose a female without again devoting several months to profound study and laborious disquisition.
2 I had heard of some discoveries having been made by an English philosopher, the knowledge of which was material to my success, and I sometimes thought of obtaining my father’s consent to visit England for this purpose; but I clung to every pretence of delay, and could not resolve to interrupt my returning tranquillity.
3 My health, which had hitherto declined, was now much restored; and my spirits, when unchecked by the memory of my unhappy promise, rose proportionably. My father saw this change with pleasure, and he turned his thoughts towards the best method of eradicating the remains of my melancholy, which every now and then would return by fits, and with a devouring blackness overcast the approaching sunshine.
4 At these moments I took refuge in the most perfect solitude. I passed whole days on the lake alone in a little boat, watching the clouds, and listening to the rippling of the waves, silent and listless.
5 It was after my return from one of these rambles that my father, calling me aside, thus addressed me—
6 “I confess, my son, that I have always looked forward to your marriage with your cousin as the tie of our domestic comfort, and the stay of my declining years. You were attached to each other from your earliest infancy; you studied together, and appeared, in dispositions and tastes, entirely suited to one another."
7 “My dear father, my future hopes and prospects are entirely bound up in the expectation of our union.”
8 “The expression of your sentiments on this subject, my dear Victor, gives me more pleasure than I have for some time experienced. If you feel thus, we shall assuredly be happy, however present events may cast a gloom over us."
9 “We have been unfortunate, and recent events have drawn us from that every-day tranquillity befitting my years and infirmities. You are younger; yet I do not suppose, possessed as you are of a competent fortune, that an early marriage would at all interfere with any future plans of honour and utility that you may have formed."
10 “Do not suppose, however, that I wish to dictate happiness to you. Interpret my words with candour and answer me, I conjure you, with confidence and sincerity.”
11 I revolved rapidly in my mind a multitude of thoughts, and endeavoured to arrive at some conclusion Alas! To me the idea of an immediate union with my cousin was one of horror and dismay. I was bound by a solemn promise, which I had not yet fulfilled, and dared not break. I must perform my engagement, and let the monster depart with his mate, before I allowed myself to enjoy the delight of an union from which I expected peace.
12 I remembered the necessity of journeying to England to those philosophers of that country, whose knowledge and discoveries were of indispensable use to me in my present undertaking.
13 Our plan was soon arranged. I should travel to Strasburgh, where Clerval would join me. It was agreed that the tour should occupy the space of two years.
14 My union with Elizabeth should take place immediately on my return to Geneva.
15 “These two years will pass swiftly, and it will be the last delay that will oppose itself to your happiness. And, indeed, I earnestly desire that period to arrive, when we shall all be united, and neither hopes or fears arise to disturb our domestic calm.”
16 It was in the latter end of August that I departed. Elizabeth approved of the reasons of my departure, and only regretted that she had not the same opportunities. She wept as she bade me farewell, and entreated me to return happy and tranquil.
17 “We all depend upon you.”
18 I threw myself into the carriage that was to convey me away. I remembered only to order that my chemical instruments should be packed to go with me: for I resolved to fulfil my promise while abroad, and return, if possible, a free man. Filled with dreary imaginations, my eyes were fixed and unobserving.
19 After some days spent in listless indolence I arrived at Strasburgh, where I waited two days for Clerval.
20 Alas, how great was the contrast between us! He was alive to every new scene; joyful when he saw the beauties of the setting sun, and more happy when he beheld it rise.
21 “This is what it is to live; now I enjoy existence!
22 But you, my dear Frankenstein, wherefore are you desponding and sorrowful?”
23 In truth, I was occupied by gloomy thoughts, and neither saw the descent of the evening star, nor the golden sun-rise reflected in the Rhine.
24 We had agreed to descend the Rhine in a boat from Strasburgh to Rotterdam, whence we might take shipping for London.
25 Even I, depressed in mind, and my spirits continually agitated by gloomy feelings, was pleased.
26 I lay at the bottom of the boat, and, as I gazed on the cloudless blue sky, I seemed to drink in a tranquillity to which I had long been a stranger. And if these were my sensations, who can describe those of Henry? He felt as if he had been transported to Fairyland, and enjoyed a happiness seldom tasted by man.
27 “I have seen the most beautiful scenes of my own country; but this country, Victor, pleases me more than all those wonders.”
28 Clerval! beloved friend! He was a being formed in the “very poetry of nature.” His wild and enthusiastic imagination was chastened by the sensibility of his heart. His soul overflowed with ardent affections, and his friendship was of that devoted and wondrous nature that the worldly-minded teach us to look for only in the imagination. And where does he now exist? Is this gentle and lovely being lost for ever? Has this mind so replete with ideas, which formed a world, whose existence depended on the life of its creator; has this mind perished? Does it now only exist in my memory? No, it is not thus; your form so divinely wrought, and beaming with beauty, has decayed, but your spirit still visits and consoles your unhappy friend.
29 At length we saw the numerous steeples of London, St. Paul’s towering above all, and the Tower famed in English history.